


perfect symmetry

by Chamomile



Series: unburnt fires [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Nudity, Pining, in which byleth discovers that she has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 03:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20557508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chamomile/pseuds/Chamomile
Summary: “We always talk at tea about not understanding our own feelings, or not knowing what it’s like to be ourselves,” the professor recalls, “Is this simply a part of discovering oneself, do you think? To experience emotions and sensations we never even knew existed?”[the final act of "midnight tea" and "black burning heart."]





	perfect symmetry

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! i'd like to give one more big thank you to everyone who commented and gave feedback on the other works in this series; it's been a pleasure to work on and it was a really nice change of pace for me! (i usually write ffxiv stuff for a very, VERY rare-pair, so seeing the reaction to all of the edeleth works i've been doing has been really heartening; it's all very much appreciated!)
> 
> that said, this is a simple little work, but i wanted to close out the "unburnt fires" stories with something a little quieter (and also titled from a keane song. i definitely recommend the song "perfect symmetry" if you're looking for a black eagles route-sounding song.) 
> 
> i hope you enjoy, and have an awesome day!! :D

There is a state between sleeping and waking that Byleth knows all too well. It is the only time she feels she is the closest to having a dream that does not involve a narcoleptic goddess, where the past comes back in short bursts and she can revisit memories and realities she is particularly fond of.

This waking dream is one she knows far too well for her own good. Yet, try as she might, she keeps bringing it back, enjoying its comfort far too much; it is near and dear to her, and she realizes in her half-lucid state that it is the _only_ memory she has brought back this past month, one that is too precious to let go of:

_She climbs out of the bathtub, gazing up at the scarred hand that guides her back to dry ground. Edelgard is no longer hesitant, she does not cover any part of herself, does not need to, now that she knows Byleth enjoys the simple sight of her body laid bare. Byleth takes the emperor’s hand, using it to pull herself ever closer._

_There is something about the sensation of Edelgard’s skin on her own that makes her entire body tremble and grow warm with desire; they had certainly explored each other in the shallow waters, but there was something entirely new to feeling Edelgard’s heartbeat while she was simply standing, touching the scars on her stomach without the cover of steam or hot water._

_Edelgard never flinches, never seems to mind the caresses down her stomach and hips. A smile crosses her lips as she places a hand on Byleth’s flushed cheek, wraps the other arm around the other woman and lets her have one, two more kisses before Byleth grows breathless, her arms finding their way around the emperor again. They stare and admire the other’s body, taking in this experience, this discovery they’ve both wanted for years and years._

_Byleth catches a glimpse of her damp clothes still sitting on the bathhouse floor, but she does not yet want to take them from their place. Taking them would signify to Edelgard that the moment between them is over, that they must go back to reality and face battles and wars un-won.  
_

_Edelgard catches her looking away, breaking the silence between them:_

_“Once we leave this place,” she says in a quiet vow, “I cannot hold you like this any longer. Not until Fódlan knows peace.”_

_“…I know,” Byleth replies, letting the words sink in, “Perhaps I should have waited. I shouldn’t have let this happen until I knew it was safe—I just…I couldn’t do it anymore. Not after knowing what I’ve—”_

_But her words stop there as Edelgard places a finger on her lover’s lips._

_“Byleth,” the emperor murmurs, “There is no need for apologies. I’ve…always wanted to be with you like this.”_

_A wave of heat shoots through Byleth’s body by those words alone, and Edelgard’s finger traces her lips as she continues:_

_“When I was still a student, I thought the happiness I felt with you could only ever be temporary… But you chose me. I was overjoyed and confused, but… You came back… You came back and chose me. Words will never be able to express how much that means to me.”_

_Edelgard’s eyes gloss over with tears, and Byleth discovers how difficult it is to find the right words for her. The stony emperor let her guard down for no one, and to have those walls knocked down—to see Edelgard not as an emperor, but as the woman she was—was something of a priceless treasure that Byleth has the privilege of witnessing. It is a hallowed thing, this feeling, and she does not want to waste an ounce of what is between them._

_“I would choose you again,” Byleth blurts out, out of some overwhelming sensation that captures her still heart and makes it feel for once like it is bursting, full of life, “I’d choose you a thousand times.”_

_“You mustn’t say such things,” Edelgard’s forlorn smile speaks volumes, “…otherwise, I may never want to let you go.”_

_“When the war is over, we won’t have to,” Byleth reminds her, running her hand down the emperor’s back, “…Is it still all right if I come back here to see you?”_

_“To bathe with me, you mean?”_

_“Well, yes,” Byleth nods, “but it doesn’t have to be like tonight. Not until I have your permission. Until then, we can talk to each other. Like we always do. And…I can wash your back.”_

_“Wash my back, you say?” Edelgard can’t help but stifle a laugh, “Your help certainly wouldn’t be unwelcome…and I trust that your intentions are pure.”_

_“I wouldn’t do anything like tonight,” Byleth insists, heat spreading through her face, “…I wouldn’t know how to start without you.”_

_“…Have you ever been loved like that before, Byleth?”_

_“No,” she simply says, “I’ve never really wanted to. Not until you. I’ve never cared for someone like I do for you, but… I think I’ve known that for a long time.”_

_Edelgard embraces Byleth once more, laying her head on the other woman’s shoulder, leaving a kiss on the professor’s bare neck that sends another shiver through her entire body. She remains there, the long white curtain of hair falling onto Byleth’s bare chest, covering them both._

_“We shall make this our secret,” Edelgard whispers, the two of them slowly coming apart. Byleth remembers kissing her again, just one more time before this has to end, before she goes to pick up her smallclothes and armor scattered about the bathhouse tiles._

Neither Byleth nor Edelgard have spoken of the night at the bathhouse since.

Things are as they should be, and when Byleth goes to the bathhouse in the evenings when she cannot see Edelgard during the day, it is only for quiet conversation, for helping Edelgard wash her scarred back and snow-white hair.

* * *

The pounding of heavy rain against the dormitory window rattles Byleth awake, back to reality.

It hasn’t rained at the monastery for quite some time, she recalls.

When she was only a child, Jeralt always told her with excitement that the rains of the Great Tree Moon brought about even greater blossoms and greenery in the coming Harpstring Moon. She remembers nodding to him with that same taciturn expression, telling him she was very excited for it…even if she couldn’t quite express as much. Since those days, the spring rains have always reminded her of her father.

She wonders what Jeralt would think of her now, marching to take down the very church he once served… It was hard for her to believe they would march to Fhirdiad nary a week from today.

Her father always did tell her to be cautious of Rhea, and of everything that the church stood for. Was this what he meant? There are too many things she wishes she could ask him, but his grave has never said a word back to her…as if it ever would. She wishes to know if it’s all right to love someone like she loves Edelgard, or if it’s all right to grow into herself—to grow into a human being—the way she has these past few months.

She wonders if he would be proud of her. It was rare that she ever sought his approval, but for this, of all things, he could not be present. Whispering words to his grave would never feel as fulfilling.

And though the rain is pouring against the windows, Byleth seeks comfort that she can only find outside her room, away from the haunting echo of the torrent and silent words her father can never speak.

She grabs an old cloak from one of her drawers, finding comfort in the fact that it is almost too big for her, still smells faintly like her father.

The doors to her room are locked shut on the way out, and she takes in the fresh scent of the rain, hides under awnings and jumps over puddles like a curious child. Not a soul walks the monastery grounds but Byleth, and despite her desire for company, she finds the empty yards comforting, the chatter of the soldiers replaced with the raindrops against the walkways.

On her way, a story Linhardt told her about rain on one occasion jolts her memory. He lectured the class once about how there is a specific word for the scent of rain after a long period without. The only reason she can remember the term—_petrichor_—is because Petra suddenly jumped into action as soon as the young scholar had uttered the word, wondering if there was something she could help Linhardt with.

Byleth’s gaze turns to the ground and the old cobblestone path, stifling a smile from the mere memory of the enthusiastic princess. She may not have had her father with her anymore, but the Strike Force found their way into her heart. Each and every one of them had cared for her and took her in again and called her family.

They dine together, share joy together and bleed together, the very same way she and her father used to. She does not know what else to call them, except in the case of Edelgard, which she understands as something else entirely. But she is grateful for it all the same.

Crowds gather in the hallways as she takes shelter inside; the clamor of battle preparations and supplies for the march on Fhirdiad makes itself known no matter where she goes. Those who pass her by all acknowledge her presence, wave to her with calls of “Professor!” and she is happy to oblige with greetings in those little moments. She has learned the faces of Garreg Mach well enough now to know when they have been lost in battle; they are all that is left of this place she has grown to call home.

…Just when she is prepared to give those very same greetings to Edelgard, just as she opens the doors to the old second-floor office, she discovers that there is not even an Edelgard to call out to, and a wave of concern washes over her. Edelgard did not often leave these quarters unless something urgent demanded it, and Hubert is not present in her absence, either. She searches the room for some kind of sign, but everything is so spotless and tidy and ordinary in this office that nothing truly stands out. (Why did she expect any room that Edelgard occupies to be anything less than spotless?)

“Professor?” a familiar voice sneaks up from behind.

She turns to find Ignatz there, a rather large sketchbook in tow.

“Rainy days are good days for sketching, aren’t they?” Byleth motions to the book.

“They are indeed!” Ignatz’s expression brightens up in an instant, “I was trying to find a quiet place to sketch, but it seems everybody had the same idea of going to the library today…”

“Perhaps you should try to sketch in here,” Byleth tells him, half-joking, “Edelgard isn’t here this morning.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly!” the young artist adjusts his glasses, “I don’t think Edelgard would be very pleased with me if I did such a thing—especially not while she’s on an outing.”

“An outing? Do you know where she went?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the details,” Ignatz furrows his brow, “Hubert happened to mention it to me, but he didn’t say much else. Not that I would expect him to.”

“And where might Hubert be?”

“I…think he’s in the dining hall, having tea with Ferdinand.”

“…_Hubert _is having tea?”

“I was just as surprised as you, to be honest!” Ignatz laughs, “I’m sure he has his reasons.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to see for myself,” Byleth says, eyes wide with shock. She nearly dashes out of the room before she can thank the former Golden Deer, and adds:

“The chapel, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“The chapel is always empty.”

“Y-Yes, of course!” Ignatz’s epiphany is written all over his face, and he nearly hurries out faster than Byleth can, “Thank you, Professor!”

Ignatz, for all his faults, certainly had grown nimble since his days as a clumsy archer.

The way back to the dining hall wouldn’t involve any more jaunts in the rain, and Byleth is grateful for it; in the corners of her still heart, she fears that the rain will wash away the last evidence that this cloak was ever her father’s.

* * *

“…Which is _exactly why _I must don an asymmetric cape!” Ferdinand claps his hands together, nearly shaking them in the direction of his present company, “It is a symbol of individuality and pride for oneself!”

“You may persuade me all you like,” Hubert rubs his temple, “I much prefer my current equipment.”

“Do you not have_ pride_, Hubert?” Ferdinand crosses his arms, “I feel as if that is what you are trying to tell me.”

“Hubris has always been man’s downfall, Ferdinand. Someone as well-read as yourself should know such a thing.”

“…Did you just call me ‘well-read’?” Ferdinand is taken aback, nearly spilling his tea, “I’m certainly pleased that you appreciate my intellect, but I cannot say I have grown used to any praise from you…direct or indirect.”

“Hmph,” Hubert shrugs, “You will, in time.”

“…Does that mean you’ll join me for tea again?”

“I never said—”

Hubert’s reply is cut short by the sound of familiar footsteps coming his way.

…Of course Byleth had to find him when he was preoccupied with the very thing he claimed he hated with every fiber of his being. Though her expression does not often change, he can sense the great interest the professor has in his current activities, and does not like it one little bit.

She is rather out of breath, and waits for it to catch up with her before she can communicate, but does so all the same:

“Hubert…Ferdinand,” she nods in approval…for what, he does not wish to know, “It is good to see you two.”

“Spare me the smug pleasantries, Professor,” Hubert almost winces in response, “What business do you have with us?”

“Edelgard’s not in her office,” she sighs, “Ignatz said she was on some outing, but he thought you might know more of it.”

“She did leave the monastery, yes,” Hubert recalls, “but she did not tell me her destination. I cannot imagine she has gone very far.”

“Not at all, in fact!” Ferdinand chimes in, “I must’ve seen her about an hour or two past, donning some kind of…disguise, perhaps?”

“Ah, yes,” Hubert nods, “When she does not wish to be noticed by the smallfolk, she will often commission another outfit to be made for her. I believe she left wearing one of those this morning.”

“If she did not wish to be noticed by the smallfolk, she ought to choose something…not red, perhaps.”

“She was dressed in red?” Byleth takes a mental note, “Do you remember anything else?”

“Her hair was down, and she donned a red cloak—not so red that it screams ‘I am, without question, the Adrestian Emperor,’ but a rather deep sort of burgundy shade, if you will.”

“Burgundy,” Byleth notes again, “Understood.”

“She has a habit of going off to some ruins on the southern outskirts of the monastery to find solitude on days like these.” Hubert adds for good measure, “That would be my best guess as to where she has gone.”

“I think I remember those ruins,” the professor says, “Thank you, you two. Enjoy your tea…and coffee, too.”

…and before Hubert can even tell her that _no, he won’t_, she is out of his sight, running headfirst into the rain and out of the monastery, no doubt.

“She seemed to be in a hurry,” Ferdinand says after a sip of his tea, “You did not give her the wrong information, did you?”

“No,” Hubert grumbles, “I would not do such a thing. I have fooled the professor one too many times.”

“Have you, now?”

“A story for another day…over another coffee, perhaps. As long as you are the one brewing it.”

“It would be my honor!”

Hubert checks to make sure Byleth is long gone before his expression softens towards his fellow nobleman. He flashes Ferdinand the slightest of smiles, and even though the expression itself is uncomfortable and new, he finds that he does not mind doing such things in Ferdinand’s presence.

* * *

The rains had already passed through the forests, their floors muddy and foliage dappled with drops of what remained. Byleth did not bother to take a horse, as the old southern ruins stand barely a mile or so from the monastery proper.

She knows the ruins well, now that she has time to ruminate on it, and the mere image of the location in her mind sets her skin alight with goosebumps; they are the old battlegrounds, the sight of the first Battle of Garreg Mach, where she once lost consciousness and found herself carried away by the flow of time.

They are nestled away by nature, now, an innocent veil of young trees and moss and wildflowers in full bloom. They have been lost to time, just as she had been, and the grassy clearing is just how Byleth remembers it. The mangled, bloodied corpses of the Knights of Seiros were no longer present, of course, but the shrubs that have replaced them sprout strong and tall, like memorials for the fallen.

She cannot help but sigh in relief when she spots the flash of a dark crimson cloak and shining white hair in the distance, its owner sitting still and tall on a broken pillar. The urge to run to Edelgard and comfort her and call her “El” takes her by surprise, the pale ache in her chest claws at her as if it is trying to escape.

They are so close to ending the war, and she would like nothing more than to give into her own passions; a premonition stirs within her, a tiny voice that whispers to her and tells her that killing Rhea with her own two hands is akin to suicide. It screams at her and says she must tell Edelgard everything before Byleth inevitably falls as punishment for her sins against the goddess that gave her life and stole her soul.

Sothis did bless Byleth with dominion over the past…but the future was another matter entirely. She does not know if these voices or images are sent by the goddess herself, or if they are simply waking nightmares of her own making. She curses whoever has sent them to her, and with every fleeting thought of tomorrow, the ache grows and grows, until it stabs at her, sharp as the edge of her sword.

But she refuses to give in for now; her promise to the emperor and her dreams of a new Fódlan are much stronger than any simple wave of passion or agony could ever be.

Her first steps onto the old bricks startle Edelgard, her hands swiftly grabbing for her dagger, but the moment she glimpses bright green hair, her shoulders sink with a sigh, and she sheaths the old treasure.

“…Byleth,” Edelgard looks away, embarrassed, “It’s you.”

The professor apologizes for startling her, finding a place by her side to sit. Edelgard is more than happy to make room, leaving barely any distance between them as the emperor’s hand finds its way to hers. She is not averse to it, of course, but something about Edelgard—who has kept the love between them silent—is different today.

“Are you sure this is all right?” Byleth wraps her fingers around Edelgard’s hand, “…we won’t be seen?”

“Just for now,” Edelgard takes the professor’s gesture as approval, “Just for this moment…I will allow it.”

“Of course,” Byleth responds in kind, letting her head fall onto Edelgard’s shoulder, watching silently as the rainclouds blow through the mountains and the monastery. She worries for a moment that she is overstepping her boundaries, but Edelgard says nothing of it, her eyes fixed towards the rolling sky.

The sensation in Byleth’s chest bubbles up in the silence, boiling over into words she does not remember even considering:

“…Some days, I still think about that old journal you kept,” Byleth speaks too fast to regret her words, “It was a lot to take in, but…at the beginning, I remember something about rain.”

“Yes,” Edelgard never budged, “It rained for three days and three nights after you disappeared. Every drop of blood, every hope I had to find you under the rubble…all of it was washed away.”

The ache does not fade, but some part of Byleth wants to nurture this pain and give it life so that she can try to fathom what Edelgard’s heart experienced in those dark days.

No sadness or pain on her behalf would do Edelgard’s suffering justice. Hubert has told her something similar before; she knows doing such a thing would be futile. Still, she cannot control herself from imagining the young emperor grasping at stones with bloodied hands, digging through the rubble and the piles of corpses all for her sake. It cuts through her like a blade in the dark, breaks the silence in her mind that she knows and loves and fears all too well.

“Why did you keep looking?” Byleth nestles her face into the emperor’s shoulder, averting her gaze away from Edelgard’s.

“I was afraid of losing you,” Edelgard’s free hand runs through Byleth’s hair, back and forth in a motion that eases her worry.

“I came here to ask if you needed anything before the march,” the professor turns her head back towards the murky morning light, her sleepy eyes running back and forth with the clouds.

“My preparations have already been made,” Edelgard reassures her, “but what of you?”

“Before I found you here, I searched the monastery…but you were gone,” Byleth lifts her head, lets her hand move away from Edelgard’s.

“I come here on occasion,” Edelgard tells her, “when the fresh air of the monastery is not enough.”

“You don’t dislike this place?” the professor asks, “Even though you lost me here?”

“…To be honest,” Edelgard’s laugh is warm and kind despite the coldness of her words, “These ruins terrify me. The day we took the monastery will always remain in my memory. When we rallied the other students, told them that only spineless dreamers would hide in churches as Rhea and her knights did…I wondered if I became the spineless one, hiding away in the ruins of the monastery, waiting for a chance to strike at the Kingdom and the Alliance… I feared for what I had become—what I _would _become—without you. Despite all that, I have never stopped myself from my respites in the ruins. Perhaps it is something of a reminder.”

“A reminder?”

“Yes,” Edelgard brushes back a loose bit of hair, “It serves as a reminder of all I hold dear…and everything I have fought for these past five years. There will be darkness, of course—such is inevitable when you tread into a new, unknown future—but there is light and hope, as well.”

“That’s an admirable way to look at it,” Byleth naturally smiles upon hearing the resolve in her lover’s words.

“I wouldn’t have been able to,” Edelgard says, “if you had not been there to guide me.”

The rain begins again in a sudden downpour…or so Byleth believes, but there is no noise, no petrichor, and no sensation anywhere but on her cheeks and her eyes. She wishes she knew in advance when these things were going to happen; Edelgard is taken by surprise when she eyes the stains of teardrops upon her mantle.

“It’s happening again, isn’t it?” the professor rubs her eyes to find her fingers warm with tears, “I’m terrible at this.”

“You are no such thing,” Edelgard is quieter now, her resolve fading into a comforting murmur, “and you may shed tears in front of me as often as you like. I cannot say I know what is best during times like these, but…”

“It’s all right,” Byleth sighs, “It’s been happening more often. Since the bathhouse.”

“…Since the bathhouse?”

“I know we promised,” Byleth interrupts Edelgard before she can ask any more questions, turning her gaze to the dew-covered grass, “If you don’t want to speak of it, it’s all right.” Her voice is as still and as monotone as ever, but the tears continue to flow down her face in droves, the rest of her body numb and listless.

“You can still speak to me about these things, Byleth,” the emperor brushes a hand across the other woman’s face, clearing away as many tears as she is able, “We swore that night that we would not make our love known to another soul, yes, but that does not mean you cannot speak to me about your own feelings.”

“Even if I could,” Byleth lets out a solemn laugh, “I don’t have any idea what this is. It isn’t mourning. It isn’t like losing my father, but…it’s something like that feeling.”

“Do you remember what you were thinking about before this occurred?” Edelgard questions her, eyes narrow in thought.

“I was thinking about what you were telling me, about the future,” she explains, “I was thinking about you.”

“…I see,” is all that Edelgard can utter, her hand falling from the professor’s cheek as she freezes; perhaps there is a voice in her mind, too, that wonders about the end of the war, about divine punishment and death.

“We always talk at tea about not understanding our own feelings, or not knowing what it’s like to be ourselves,” the professor recalls, a smile on her face, “Is this simply a part of discovering oneself, do you think? To experience emotions and sensations we never even knew existed?”

“I suppose it is,” Edelgard nods, uneasy before she can speak again, “Perhaps, in the end, I am the cause of all this.”

“You, Edelgard?”

“These emotions…they’ve been happening since the bathhouse, haven’t they?”

“When I think about you,” Byleth nods, “and the future, yes. But it isn’t a bad thing. I don’t think you’re to blame for anything. It’s just when those two things come together, I imagine things I don’t want to.”

“…May I ask what you imagine?”

“If, for some reason, I don’t—”

The professor stops as a small sob escapes her; she has experienced this before, not long ago, when she read Edelgard’s journal, but these tears are not the same tears of discovery and love and pain. They are something entirely foreign to her, a crushing unknown that creeps within her and festers whenever she imagines Edelgard’s new Fódlan.

The image should be a bright one—_is _a bright one. Yet even that comfort is not enough to stop the woman’s tears. She is afraid to speak again, lest she end up a sobbing mess for reasons she cannot even explain.

She is glad for Edelgard, however, who is able to imagine that very same future in Byleth’s mind and place the “ifs” together.

“…If, for some reason, you do not survive the final battle?”

Byleth’s eyes widen, and in a mere moment, she covers her face with her hands, finding herself overcome with the image of a future she cannot exist in.

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” Byleth manages to utter through muffled, quiet cries, “Not again. Not ever.”

She must appear weak and pitiful to Edelgard in this moment—Edelgard, who _she _was supposed to guide and guard when the darkness overwhelmed her. She is not sure if she is allowed for it to be the other way around…after all, it’s never been like this before.

But she’s never been in love before, either, never had an army of family and friends to leave behind if she falls in battle.

She is too ashamed to take her hands off of her face, out of worry that Edelgard will reprimand her weakness…but the emperor’s presence inches closer, sturdy arms wrapping around her from the side, her breaths warm against the professor’s neck.

“So you’ve figured it out, then,” Edelgard whispers, “About your power…about your mother… That said, I do not know what will happen to you once we defeat Rhea, either. Now more than ever, I wish I knew.”

“…We'll find out soon,” Byleth shakes her head, slowly rising up from the shelter of her own hands.

“In times like these, I should be a comfort to you,” Edelgard leans her head on Byleth’s shoulder, just as she had so many times in the past, “I wish I could tell you the future I create will be a perfect one. But even I cannot say that with certainty. There are so many things I’ve yet to learn about myself, so many challenges we’ve yet to face…”

“It’s all right,” the professor takes a deep breath, her voice once again unmoving despite her tears.

“…Are you afraid, Byleth?”

She is silent for a moment, but it all seems right as the same emotions come flooding back in another sob. _Afraid. _She thinks back on this fear; she had always assumed it was going to be something less…overwhelming, perhaps. Less of a flood of a million things and more of a sharp moment of survival instinct, or, in minor cases, dull apprehension.

People always used to tell her she should fear the battlefield, yet to this day, she never has; the occasional rush of blood would hit her as she took down foes, of course, but it never compelled her to hide her face from the world and cry into a cloudy clearing.

“Is this what it’s like to feel afraid?”

Edelgard nuzzles closer to her lover, presses a light, cautious kiss against her neck, “It just might be. I do not know what the end of the war will bring…but I will remain by your side for as long as time allows it.”

The kiss from Edelgard—as quickly as it came and went—was a soft fortress against the sharp pangs of fear that gripped her, a soothing memory made from water and steam, their first evening together re-lived in a fleeting moment.

Byleth cannot even process the vow they are keeping; all her mind wants to do is fight this fear with love, the only other emotion she can take in in this moment, pressing her lips against the emperor’s without so much as a second thought. Her lips are soft like rain and faded tea, but those little things fight the fear she has of the future, make her wonder if she can stay like this with Edelgard for as long as she lives…no matter how short or how long that might be.

She is grateful that her lover never disallows it or reminds her of secrecy and silence. Instead, she returns the gesture tenfold, kissing her on the spots where tears were falling, holding her tightly, never once indicating that she would let go her hold on Byleth.

“I will do everything in my power to keep you here with us,” Edelgard tells her between kisses, “and if I must face death itself, then I would fight with everything I have to take you back. I have longed for you for too many years not to make you mine.”

“Edelgard…is this still all right?” Byleth asks her, wide-eyed and overjoyed and guilty for breaking her promise.

“For now, yes,” Edelgard nods, “If I can be your comfort and ease your fears, I would do it gladly.”

The two remain silent, holding each other and remembering just how lovely being in the other’s embrace is. It is not like the night at the bathhouse, to be sure, but it is still their treasure, and if it is to be Byleth’s last, then Edelgard is happy to go back on her word.

“El,” Byleth whispers the name as if it is sacred, “I love you.”

Edelgard’s face is flushed red, but she is happy to give Byleth one more kiss, to answer her and tell her that she will always know love so long as they are together.

If Byleth has any regrets today, it is that she does not have her father’s ring to give to her emperor. But the chaos would die down eventually. Fódlan would know peace, and she would survive whatever consequences come of her sins against the sleeping goddess in her soul.


End file.
